Post by methos on Jul 13, 2019 0:05:28 GMT -6
Hey what can I say, I'm a glutton for punishment. Visions of the muse striking Caesar from History of the World part 2 , here, wash this!
A placeholder as I work this out.
Yes I do cry for my kin. I weep for what is lost. Lonely and alone in this castle I do sit.
Oh brother, so long silent, hostage of thine own shrill Siren? Let us talk of the old, for those of us older than thou do tend to dwell on such things.
I've thought for long time that the younger of the brothers is freed from the past, thus willing to take risk where the eldest, is steadfast, or, of other words fossilized.
Neither my brother is good in and of itself.
Stop to think my Brother that the old Pate and myself do hold on to that which is old because we know that we had it better then than now?
Shrooms, weed, flip your childs hair to the side in hope of creating the victim that you can worship. The Pate and I spit and scoff. We've had enough of these hollow artifices.
I can smell the shite, I recognize it, I live in hog country. Its stench lingers in all that I am.
Victim, let us talk of that. Placed into the Siren's very hands, the ultimate of victimhood. We earn street cred while a young man lays cold in the ground becuase he placed himself in the path of such small amount of lead.
- The recent events in the school in Colorado do enter into this. Shame on the actions after the fact, embracing the victim hood, worshiping it as if a Cross of Christ.
Victim, let us analyze that concept brother mine. The Siren dost call. She pulls hard with womanly charms, some days I think that the monks of old had it right, but then what would come of the children of God if there were no children?
Remember Owain Phyfe, because he lived and produced something of beauty, and in the end was not a victim.